Page 44 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
Edin blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in his tone.
A slow, sinking feeling crept into her stomach.
“Of course, I dae,” she said, her voice softer now.
Finley finally lifted his head, and when his eyes met hers, they were burning with something more than grief. His look struck her like a physical blow, the intensity of his gaze cutting straight through her.
He was looking at her like she was a part of the problem; like she had somehow failed him in a way she couldn’t yet understand.
“Nay, ye wouldnae,” he said bitterly. “Yer only allegiance is tae the Triad. Ye dinnae have a family tae care fer.”
Edin sat frozen for a moment, his accusation settling heavily on her chest. Then, the hurt ignited into something sharper — rage.
“Excuse me?” she bit out, her voice laced with barely restrained anger.
“Ye heard me,” Finley said, his eyes cold. “And ye ken I’m speaking the truth.”
Edin stood, fists clenched at her sides. “That’s nae true.”
Finley let out a harsh laugh, void of humor.
“Isnae it?” His voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “Ye’ve never cared about anyone other than yerself and the Triad.”
Edin’s vision blurred with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to breathe.
“I have done everything I could tae help ye,” she said, her voice quieter now, steadier despite the tremble beneath it. “Everything.”
“Are ye helping me or is it just another mission?” Finley snapped, his voice raw with accusation.
Edin recoiled as if he had struck her. It was worse than a slap, worse than a blade buried between her ribs. Because for a second—a single, cursed second—she wasn’t sure how to answer. It was true, it had started as a mission. She had done things, made choices in the past that a better person might not have made. But this? Him? This was different.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Finley took her silence as confirmation, scoffing as he turned his head away.
The anger drained from Edin’s body, leaving only exhaustion and something hollow in its place. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke again.
“I might nae understand what ye’re going through,” she admitted, staring at the floor. “But I understand better than most how yer sister feels.”
That made him pause. His jaw tensed, and for the first time since they had entered the room, something flickered in his expression that wasn’t anger. It was brief, barely there, but Edin saw it — and in that instant, she felt all her defenses begin to crumble.
“What d’ye mean by that?” Finley’s voice was quieter now, but no less intense.
She collapsed onto the bed, feeling her own past crush her bones, squeeze the breath from her lungs like a boulder.
A single tear slipped free before she could stop it, tracing a hot path down her cheek. But inside her, the storm was far darker. Hurt, pain, abandonment, loneliness — they twisted together, an unholy tangle of emotions that she had long since learned to bury. But now they clawed their way up to the surface, demanding to be heard.
“I was taken too,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
Finley’s head tilted as he tried to grasp her words. “When?”
She let out a harsh, exasperated breath, running a hand through her hair as if to steady herself. “When I was just born. So youngI dinnae even ken who me parents were. I cannae remember them. Nay faces, nay voices. Naething.”
Finley’s expression softened, and he exhaled slowly.
“Edin...” His voice carried gentleness, almost pain.
She turned her head sharply, refusing to let him see the flicker of vulnerability that threatened to surface. The pity in his voice scraped against her like a dull blade, setting her teeth on edge. She didn’t want his sympathy.
